


seven days of rain

by gabstar



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi's really gay list, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Relationship Study, rainy day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6837787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabstar/pseuds/gabstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bokuto loves the rain.</p><p>Loves it too much, Akaashi thinks. Loves it like Bokuto loves everything. Wholly, completely. With total and absolute abandon.</p><p>Akaashi would be lying if he said that didn't scare him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seven days of rain

**Author's Note:**

> this is based of of the cutest cute cute art by Lee @theweetos and who is absolutely incredible and a supremely talented artist I just love the socks off them!! 
> 
> art here:
> 
> http://frenchyvanilla.tumblr.com/post/137896059707/bokuto-forgot-his-umbrella

Bokuto loves the rain.

Loves it too much, Akaashi thinks. Loves it like Bokuto loves everything. Wholly, completely. With total and absolute abandon.

It wouldn’t be a problem if it didn’t distract him. Bokuto, who is supposed to be up to serve on their three-on-three practice match, stares off at the rain-pounded windows. He holds the volleyball close to his chest. His lips are parted with escaped breath, eyes widened in awe. Lightning flashes, bleaches the windows for just an instant, and Bokuto flinches.

 _Bokuto-san’s Weakness #13:_ _Bokuto-san is very, very easily distracted._

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. He tugs on Bokuto’s sleeve.  “Bokuto-san it’s your serve.”

“Huh?” Bokuto blinks, startled. “Oh, sorry!”

_#13: Solution- Distract Bokuto-san with something better._

Akaashi shrugs off his apology. “If we hurry and win this match, we can stay after for extra spiking practice.”

Bokuto perks up. “Really?”

Akaashi nags at himself not to do it. He has a mountain of homework waiting for him at home. His eyes are dry and itch for sleep, and his mother will be undoubtedly irritated if he comes home late again. But there is a wonderful eagerness in Bokuto’s gaze Akaashi can't resist. Already Akaashi's limbs tingle with anticipation. The rhythm of toss, set, spike like a learned addiction lurking in his veins. 

“Really,” Akaashi confirms with a curt nod. “Don’t miss the serve.”

Bokuto squawks. “Hey, hey I won’t!”

And he doesn’t. Bokuto's serve is powerful and unstoppable and he delves back into the game with his usual enthusiasm. His re-found focus and energy adds to the team like a spike of lightning, a crash of bone-shaking thunder. Bokuto submerges himself into the game and keeps the rest of them buoyant. When Bokuto delves into the game this time, it is whole, complete. With total and absolute abandon.

It occurs to Akaashi that this should frighten him.

It’s not-yet dark as they make their way home. The rain hasn’t let up and Akaashi’s elbows feel sore and loose from those promised extra tosses. Bokuto splashes his way through the storm, giggling and dancing and whooping every time the sky flashes with swift lightning.

“You’re going to get sick if you keep that up,” Akaashi says, raising his voice above the roll of rain.

Bokuto holds an umbrella but it doesn’t help. His hair is plastered to his wildly grinning face, his lashes are dark and clumped together, and his uniform is drenched. His smile softens into something like awe when he meets Akaashi's gaze.

“Isn’t it _incredible?_ ” Bokuto asks, gesturing to the rain around them and ignoring Akaashi’s warning.

The sky thunders as if to prove his point and Bokuto is alight with its seeming encouragement.

“See?” he shouts. “Incredible!”

It’s not yet dim enough to miss the way Bokuto smiles with all his teeth. Or how his impossibly gold eyes don’t need to reflect, but rather admit their own sort of glow. And it’s never dark enough to hide that boundless, bubbling, brilliant enthusiasm that is as true to Bokuto as his elaborate hair, or the number four emblazoned across his back.

Akaashi should be afraid of this uncontrollable passion. He should be wary of someone who will love and love and _love_ until something breaks. He shouldn’t crave it. He shouldn’t seek to overwhelm himself in it. He should run. Hide. _Escape._

Instead he watches Bokuto bask in the unyielding downpour and wonders if rain tastes differently against someone else’s skin.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  


“Do you remember how we met?”

Akaashi looks up from his textbook, lips parted in surprise. Bokuto is sprawled out on the grassy courtyard, head thrown back to look at the gloomy bloom of billowing grey, currently in intermission from the week of promised rain. Akaashi sits cross-legged beside him, a book perched upon his knees. Though the clouds are still dark and threaten a downpour, Akaashi would rather risk a little rain than for Bokuto to grow restless. Bokuto's brows are furrowed and lips pursed.

“You were stuck in a vending machine,” Akaashi responds. “I got you out.”

“You rescued me,” Bokuto corrects. “And you got me my M and Ms.”

Akaashi’s cheeks flush. He retreats behind his textbook and mutters, “The passcodes are always the same.”

“We stole _all_ the M and Ms.” Bokuto keeps his voice low, like he’s afraid someone else might be listening and arrest them for a crime committed almost two years ago. “And all the granola bars too.”

“I was hungry,” Akaashi says defensively and Bokuto snickers.

“You’re always hungry,” Bokuto says. He shuffles over, prodding Akaashi’s thigh. “You’re the hungriest.”

Akaashi rolls his eyes, but Bokuto’s hand lingers. Warm and broad. Flat against the muscle of Akaashi’s upper thigh. Akaashi represses a shiver.

“I bet no one at uni would rescue me from a vending machine,” Bokuto says lowly. “I bet they’ll all just walk by.”

Akaashi doubts that. He remembers the pathetic look on Bokuto’s face when Akaashi first found him. How he babbled excuses, scrunched up his nose as he fruitlessly tried to tug himself free, somehow managed to be engaging and quite frankly irresistible to curious first-year Akaashi. He remembers that first lunch spent together: a delighted Bokuto showing him the secret route to the roof, a safe, peaceful place to eat their stolen goods, their fingers chocolate-sticky as their treats melted in the sun, a surprising amount of giggling. To return the favor of his rescue, Bokuto promised his new favorite kouhai a week of free lunches made and delivered by his truly. 

_Bokuto-san’s Weakness #28: Bokuto-san tends to get carried away._

“Someone will take pity on you,” Akaashi assures. “I did.”

Bokuto remains silent. He twirls blades of glass between his fingers.

Akaashi presses his lips together, considering. Then, he says, “You made me bentos that whole week after.”

Bokuto’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He brightens with a smile.

“Oh yeah!” Bokuto says. “That was your first week of high school, wasn't it?”

“Yeah it was,” Akaashi says. “It was a new area for me too. I wouldn’t have had anyone to eat with if I hadn’t found you.”

Bokuto beams at that. “So I rescued you back!” Akaashi gives him a strange look and Bokuto clarifies, “From a week of lonely lunches! I rescued you from a week of eating alone!”

A week that had started their habit of spending every break together. Affection blooms in Akaashi's chest and he gives Bokuto a smile. 

Bokuto smiles back, self-satisfied. He reclines again, hands tucked behind his head in a smug sort of way.

“I’m the best senpai ever!” he says. 

_#28: Solution- Always keep Bokuto-san in check._

Akaashi gives a half-shrug. “Could be better. Your bentos were terrible.”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto cries, shoving Akaashi away. “Ever heard of a white lie?”

Akaashi finds himself grinning despite himself. Bokuto shoves him again and Akaashi lets himself fall against the grassy floor. Bokuto crawls up beside him, rests his chin on Akaashi’s chest, looking at him with those same adoring eyes Akaashi had fallen in love with on a rooftop his first week of high school.

A lock of silver hair falls in Bokuto’s face. Akaashi brushes it aside.

“You’re a bad liar anyway,” Bokuto relents.

Akaashi lets his hand fall away. Bokuto’s smile fades and expression becomes unreadable. Akaashi wants to sink into Bokuto’s head, discover all his secrets, his hidden thoughts. So many things about Bokuto are unexplainable, unpredictable, uncontrollable. It only makes Akaashi want to discover him more, know all of him. Mark every chamber of Bokuto’s heart his own.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Raindrops fall. Bokuto looks up. Fat, round, droplets plop satisfyingly plush against Akaashi's scalp, against the hot skin on the back of his neck. Slow and steady. Drizzling and drizzling, a icy thrill down his spine. They run down the line of Bokuto’s jaw and dot dark spots on Bokuto’s back.

They scramble to their feet at once and run for shelter. Bokuto’s hair droops with rain rest of the school day and Akaashi is all too proud to think it’s his fault.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I wish it was snowing!” Komi announces to Fukurodani’s afternoon practice. The rain patters distantly against the gym doors and windows. Fills the school gym with the kind of white noise that Akaashi finds comforting. Consistent and soft, like a hum in his ear.

Konoha squints at him over his water bottle. “Snow? Are you kidding?”

“You want it to be _colder?_ ” Sarukui asks. He shivers, his own chill evident by the pink in his cheeks and his hands stuffed in his volleyball shorts.

Komi huffs, putting his hands on his hips defensively. “Snow is fun! There’s igloos and snowmen and snow-angels and snowball fights and--”

Konoha boos. Sarukui sticks out his tongue in distaste.

“Name one thing that’s better to do in the rain than snow!” Komi challenges.

“Everything,” Konoha and Sarukui chime together.

Komi squawks in disbelief and Akaashi is about to tune out the whole conversation when Komi turns on Bokuto and calls him over.

“Oi! Bokuto! Which is better, rain or snow?” he asks.

Bokuto looks thrilled just to be included. He bounds over, sticks out his bottom lip, and scratches under his chin in an exaggerated, thoughtful expression.

“Rain!” he concludes.

Konoha and Sarukui make noises of approval and Komi wilts.

“But there’s nothing to _do_ in the rain,” Komi counters.

Bokuto laughs heartily. He gives Komi a slap on the back and Akaashi is impressed the libero doesn't wheeze and keel over.   

“There’s plenty to do!” Bokuto says. His expression turns wicked, eyelids lowering. “Haven’t any of you gone mudsliding down Saitama’s Hill of Death?”

_Bokuto-san’s Weakness #33: Bokuto-san is full of bad ideas._

Konoha and Komi brighten at the suggestion and even Sarukui shows a glimmer of interest. Akaashi steps in immediately.

“No,” he says. “Not happening.”

He’s met with groans and a rude expression from Konoha, but remains firm.

“You aren’t trespassing onto another school’s property to get yourselves killed,” Akaashi says flatly.

" _Buzzkill_ ," Sarukui says through a fake, gravelly cough and Konoha snickers. 

“Come on, Akaashi!” Bokuto whines, putting on that signature pout of his. “Where’s your sense of adventure!”

Akaashi gives him a sharp look and Bokuto switches tactics. He folds his arms across his chest and gives a sigh.

“Well, I suppose you don’t _have_ to come Akaashi,” Bokuto says idly. “I can always call Kuroo and have him drive us over there. I’m sure he’ll bring lots of sleds for us to use too!”

 _#33: Solution- Attempt to persuade Bokuto out of it. Distract him if necessary. Keep in mind it’s better to go along with a bad idea before it becomes a_ worse _idea._

“Don’t call Kuroo-san,” Akaashi amends quickly. “It’s not that far of a walk.”

“I have sleds at my house!” Konoha pipes in.

“Mud, mud, mud, mud!” Komi and Sarukui chant, clamoring on Konoha and ruffling his hair. 

“Great!” Bokuto leaps excitedly, bypassing Konoha and wrapping around Akaashi instead. “You’re coming too, right Akaashi?”

Akaashi sighs. His skin tingles where Bokuto touches him and heat rises to his cheeks. He wishes he had the willpower to push Bokuto off.

“Someone has to keep you from getting killed,” Akaashi mutters and Bokuto whoops in victory. Komi, Konoha, and Sarukui bolt, laugh as they burst through the gym doors, cheering as they clamor out into the rain. Komi shoves Sarukui teasingly, asking what happened to his chill, and Sarukui counters by kicking his shin and letting him slip on the rain-slick earth.

Bokuto beams up at the cloudy, murky sky. He lets the raindrops fall on his face, allows the rain to sink into him, invited. He looks back at Akaashi, still sheltered in the gym doorway.  

“It’s not that scary, trust me,” Bokuto promises, somehow reading Akaashi’s concern. “We’ll do it together!”

Akaashi blinks, unsure for a moment. Bokuto extends a hand, his white t-shirt becoming wet and transparent and thunder rolls in the distance.

“We'll be okay,” Bokuto says, sounding warm and certain. Nothing like the unbridled bravado he usually wears. 

Akaashi looks at Bokuto’s outstretched hand.

And he steps into the rain.

  
  


(Akaashi manages to talk Bokuto out of sliding down the hill “surfboard style.”  Komi and Bokuto spread mud on their cheeks and foreheads like warpaint and Konoha laughs so hard he rolls down the hill sled-less. Sarukui decides he can go down the hill backwards and is thrown from the sled as he hits a jutting rock. Cold and tired, all five of them squish together on the sled for a final ride and their combined weight nearly gets them smashed into the side of Saitama High. Konoha rolls out his ankle as they’re forced to abandon ship and they hurry to help him limp home. Muddy, bright eyed, and giggling, Bokuto throws his arm around Akaashi once more and Akaashi figures it wasn’t a total disaster.)

  
  
  


 

* * *

 

 

 

 

A storm brews both outside and inside the Fukurodani gymnasium. Bokuto’s foul mood is barely contained. He hardly smiles. When he speaks his voice is short, bordering on harsh. Just as Bokuto can fill the room with a ringing, vibrant energy, he can suck it all away. Leaving the gymnasium feel suffocating, stuck, and airless. 

Akaashi keeps waiting for the break. The tantrum. The eruption of all Bokuto’s building frustrations. But it never comes. Instead Bokuto’s anger fizzles. Sinks into something dark and foreign. A glum, defeatedness that doesn’t suit Bokuto. The set of his shoulders looks wrong drooping like that, the corners of his mouth shouldn’t be puckered in a frown. Akaashi wants to reach out and rearrange him. Set him back to what he was. What he _should_ be.

Normally Bokuto’s moods come and go with the wind. Small things can send Bokuto into a downward spiral, and even smaller ones can send him soaring. But today not even Akaashi’s best efforts can wrangle a smile from him. Konoha and the other third years shoot Akaashi concerned looks, asking for answers Akaashi doesn’t have.

Akaashi is sick with helplessness.  

Bokuto looks pathetic standing just outside the downpour. His uniform is rumpled, his tie crooked-- he didn’t even bother to un-muss his beloved owl-horns after changing. Komi and Konoha run past him, pausing long enough to give him empathetic pats on the backs before surging into the storm. They laugh and splash each other as they sprint home.

Bokuto watches after longingly.

Akaashi pops open his umbrella, sends Bokuto a glance. “You coming?”

Bokuto scuffs his feet. “I, uh, forgot my umbrella.”

_Bokuto-san’s Weaknesses #5: Bokuto-san tends to be forgetful._

Akaashi sighs, but can’t quell the surge of tenderness rising within him. This, at least, feels familiar to the Bokuto Akaashi knows. Akaashi cocks his head to the side, lifts his own umbrella a little higher.

“We can share mine,” he says. “Come on.”

Bokuto blinks, surprised. But then he swallows and ducks under the offered shelter.

Bokuto doesn’t say much on their walk home and Akaashi is surprised to find he misses the endless stream of chatter. Even if it’s usually useless and occasionally impossible to follow, it always leaves Akaashi feeling reassured. Bokuto’s relentless attention reminds Akaashi that he’s wanted. Kept around for more than just a couple extra hours of spiking drills.

Bokuto clutches the strap of his bookbag. He keeps shooting Akaashi fast glances with those luminous eyes of his. Bokuto’s nervous, trembling energy rubs off on Akaashi and he forces himself to look away.

The world seems different, huddled together under that umbrella. Quieter. The rain gurgles and sloshes along the streets. The wind tugs at the branches of trees. Strong gusts smack wet leaves down the pavement and rip at the grass, but together they’re safe. Their bodies make their shared space warm. Together they're huddled in their own pocket of protection, a haven from the chaos around them.

Bokuto’s steps slow as they approach his apartment complex, and Akaashi slows with him. The rain pours and pours and _pours_ around them. The street is stained in silvers. Lampposts flicker to life and create sunflower-yellow pockets of light in the sinking night. 

But in this moment all Akaashi sees is Bokuto. Bokuto, with parted lips and honey-gold eyes widened. Bokuto, with a sprinkling of goosebumps along his neck and the soft hush of his breath somehow loud over the storm. Bokuto, whose gaze dips toward Akaashi’s mouth like he’s tempted by it.

Akaashi begs him to give in.

“Thanks,” Bokuto says at last. Almost breathless. “For sharing. And walking and-- Thanks.”

It’s unlike Bokuto to be bashful. The concern in Akaashi’s chest grows.

“You’re welcome,” Akaashi replies. His grip tightens around the umbrella. He looks down at their rain-splattered shoes. “Anytime.”

Bokuto clears his throat. He gives a strange-sounding laugh.

“Hopefully I won’t forget next time, right?” he says in a forced sort of way.

 _#5: Solution- Write Bokuto reminders. Text reminders as needed_.

Akaashi has a marker in his pocket. He could pull it out, write the reminder on Bokuto’s wrist, and be on his way. It’s what he has always done. It’s what he _should_ do.

Akaashi meets Bokuto’s gaze and doesn’t.

Bokuto swallows uncomfortably. “Well, uh, see you tomorrow, Akaashi!”

“Tomorrow,” Akaashi agrees. “See you then.”

His smile fades. His lips purse slightly. Bokuto looms over Akaashi, a mixture of sweat and Bokuto’s cologne and a distinct _Bokuto_  kind of warmth waft over Akaashi. He’s so close Akaashi can count the faded freckles across his nose. Close enough to feel Bokuto’s breath graze his neck. Close enough to breathe in deeply and pretend it's enough.

Bokuto’s callused thumb brushes across his cheek.

He draws back. A single curled eyelash is perched on his thumb.

“Make a wish,” Bokuto says, boyish grin returning.  

 _Kiss me_ , Akaashi thinks. Not a wish, but a demand. _Kiss me before I change my mind._

But Akaashi stays silent. Bokuto blows the eyelash into the wind, and it’s gone without a trace.

 

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
  


The rain continues throughout the week and Bokuto hasn’t remembered his umbrella once. He comes to school panting and sopping wet, babbling excuses and apologies Akaashi barely listens to. They leave school together, cozy and quiet in their own pocket of warmth against the icy rain. Akaashi never texts him that reminder.

There’s something intimate about being together under that umbrella. Akaashi fears putting it into words will break the spell, ruin their tender moments tucked away in the rain. Bokuto’s babble often fizzles away into comfortable silence, and Akaashi is too cowardly to break it. Akaashi can only wonder if Bokuto feels this strange aura too.

Bokuto waits for Akaashi, leaned against the gymnasium's doorway and staring up and the rolling rain. He hears Akaashi’s footsteps and turns. Smiles.

“Ready?” he asks.

Akaashi clears his throat. He nods.

“Ready.”

There’s something different in the air, in the rain. Something magnetic, electric, _alive_. They walk closer, their shoulders brushing with every step. Their breathing is magnified in the roof of the umbrella and Akaashi is fixated on the soft, wet sounds Bokuto's mouth makes as his lips part, then close. Like he wants to say something. Part, then close. Akaashi looks at him, and Bokuto is staring back, unashamed. 

Laughter breaks out in the distance. Konoha and Komi approach from behind. Smashing through puddles, kicking rainwater at each other, and consumed with wild, wheezing laughter, they run through the rain-slick streets. Bokuto and Akaashi move aside to allow them to sprint past and Akaashi doesn’t miss the envy flickering across Bokuto’s face as they whoop and holler.

“Do you want to join them?” Akaashi asks, allowing for the break in ritual.

Bokuto looks confused. Then he smiles, shakes his head.

“What? Nah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s no fun getting all wet and cold like that. I’d get sick!”

He sends Akaashi a quick, hopeful glance.

_Bokuto-san’s Weaknesses #7: Bokuto-san is a terrible liar._

Akaashi frowns.

“Besides!” Bokuto says, sounding a little panicked at Akaashi’s disapproval. “I’d rather be here, walking with you!”

Akaashi can’t help the soft tug of affection, but it feels wrong. Like sourness at the back of his throat or an ache in low his belly. Since when did Bokuto lie to him? Effective or not, the attempt leaves Akaashi’s skin crawling. Where is the Bokuto that dances in the downpour? Where is the Bokuto that adventures mudsliding and never swallows down his words with a loud part, then close of his lips? Where is the Bokuto that loves the rain, wholly and completely? With total and absolute abandon?

Akaashi doesn’t know why this unsettles him, but it does. Unroots him as though something carnally crucial has been taken from him, like a liver or a lung. 

He won’t stand for it.

Akaashi stomps the puddle at their feet. Splashes Bokuto thoroughly, soaking his uniform, his white button-up shirt and shoes-- Akaashi sprints.

“ _Akaashi!_ ” Bokuto cries, horrified.

Akaashi turns, shooting Bokuto a smirk like a challenge.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto says again, this time teasing and jovial. Familiar.

Akaashi thrills.

Bokuto laughs as they chase each other. Kicking up the swollen rain-gutters, ducking behind trees with damp bark, slipping on soaked grass. Bokuto’s face is shining, dripping-wet, and beaming. His hair falls around his face, dark with rain. Akaashi wishes he could blink and capture every freeze-frame of him. Bokuto smiling so hard it looks like it hurts, Bokuto reaching for him and swearing his revenge, Bokuto sticking out his tongue at the petty taunts Akaashi shoots back.

Akaashi clutches onto his umbrella despite already being drenched and shaking with cold. He lets Bokuto chase him, dodging and flitting just out of reach. He lets out soft, breathy laughter at Bokuto's loud complaints of _cheating!_ and _slow down, already!_ Akaashi can't suppress the gasps and shrill sounds every time Bokuto comes close to catching him. His fingers sliding across his jacket, a warm presence at Akaashi's back-- Bokuto's laugh becomes high-pitched and jittery. 

They’re both soaked and breathless when they reach Bokuto’s apartment complex, and Akaashi relents. He stops, pivots and lets Bokuto crash into him. Bokuto wraps around Akaashi, lifts him off his feet. Akaashi clings back, one hand still holding that cheap, useless umbrella.

Bokuto’s wheezy giggles fade into a sigh as he spins Akaashi, crushing him to his chest. He pulls back far enough to get a good look at him. Pale, cold, rain streaming down his face. Bokuto's eyes are twin suns and Akaashi basks in the glow. 

“I got you,” Bokuto announces, squeezing him in triumph. 

Akaashi brings a hand to Bokuto's face. Follows the rivets of water rolling along Bokuto’s jaw with his fingers.

“You got me,” Akaashi agrees.

There’s a beat of hesitation. Bokuto’s eyelids lower, lips part, he moves in and-- waits.

 _He looks so young like this_ , Akaashi thinks. Vulnerable. _Human_. So often Akaashi sees Bokuto as an enigma. Something uncontrollable like a storm, unpredictable like lightning, unknowable like thunder-- that he forgets that first Bokuto is a boy. Only human. Not a storm, or a puzzle to solve, or something that can be broken down into lists and facts and figures, but a person. A person who is staring at him, wonderstruck, soaking, breathing hard, and loving him. Loving him wholly and completely. With total and absolute abandon.

“You’ve always got me,” Akaashi says, soft.

Bokuto smiles.

And then they’re kissing.

It’s better than Akaashi imagined it. Tender and warm and tasting like rain, but feeling like sunshine in his chest, his belly, his toes. Bokuto sighs into his mouth and he shudders back. They’re both smiling so widely their teeth clack. Akaashi mumbles apologies and Bokuto swallows them down with more fervent, eager kisses. Thunder rumbles. Bokuto's grip shifts, lowers Akaashi to give all his attention to kissing him. Slick and deep and sweet. He clutches Akaashi tightly, desperate to taste more of him, feel all of him. Akaashi clings back, carding his hands in that wild, wet hair.

Akaashi’s umbrella falls to the pavement, forgotten.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Hey, hey, Keiji.”

Akaashi wrinkles his nose, sharp sunlight filtering through his eyelids in a unpleasant, fleshy red. He buries his face deeper into his pillow, seeking darkness and the musky, masculine _Bokuto_ smell that mixes with Akaashi’s detergent and shampoo. Bokuto shakes the mattress with his laughter as he leans over. He nuzzles kisses into Akaashi’s hair, his cheeks, his nose.

“ _Keiji_ ,” he presses. “Keiji. It’s morning.”

Akaashi frowns. “I can tell by your breath.”

The curve of Bokuto’s lips lift, caress Akaashi’s cheek. Smiling.

“So cranky,” he teases. He kisses Akaashi’s temple. “Not a morning bird?”

Akaashi hums a sour note and Bokuto kisses his earlobe. He takes the soft skin between his teeth and sucks. Akaashi squirms.

“Too early,” Akaashi complains, shouldering him away. “Later.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Bokuto warns.

Akaashi squints up at him, the morning light catches the whites of Bokuto's hair. Makes him look haloed, divine. Woven from a sunrise. 

Bokuto takes this as an invitation. He kisses the column of Akaashi’s neck, his shoulder, the hollow of his throat.

Akaashi sighs. 

_Koutarou's Weaknesses #48: He very rarely picks the right moment._

"Your breath still stinks," Akaashi warns, though Bokuto seems preoccupied nibbling his collarbone. 

"If you minded, you'd stop me," Bokuto assures. 

Bokuto turns his affection on Akaashi’s chest, just teasing past his nipple. Goosebumps rise at his touch and Akaashi’s toes curl.

“Ticklish,” Akaashi mutters.

Bokuto grins, kisses his stomach. “I love you.”

It isn’t the first time he’s said it. Akaashi doubts it’s even the first time he’s said it today. But it still rings through Akaashi, fills him with something unshakable, unbreakable, and true.

 _#48: He has a funny way of_ making _it the right moment._

“I know,” Akaashi replies. “I love you too.” 

Akaashi knows Bokuto isn't an enigma, or a storm, or something that can be unraveled in lists, but he keeps these vulnerabilities tracked anyway. Adding a remedy to each and everyone with careful, memorized care. 

Because Bokuto Koutarou has nearly fifty weaknesses.

But Akaashi just has one. 

**Author's Note:**

> who was i before owls 
> 
> hmu at cutiekeiji on tumblr!!


End file.
